Evanly Bodies - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,3
most prejudiced, militantly Welsh, and antiforeigner.
"I think we'll get along just fine," Gareth Evans continued. "After all, Pakistan and Wales have something in common, don't they?"
"Similar accents when we speak English?" someone suggested.
"I'm serious, boyo. We both know what it's like to be dominated by a colonial power, don't we? We've both been occupied by the bloody English."
"So you're saying you'd rather have Pakis run that grocer's shop than, say, English people?" Barry-the-Bucket, the local bulldozer driver, asked.
"Absolutely," Evans-the-Meat insisted.
"Well, I don't agree with that at all," Betsy the barmaid leaned across the bar to join in. "I've been to Asian grocers before, and everything in the place stinks of curry. You'll probably go in for a can of baked beans and find you have to buy lentils instead. Great sacks of lentils everywhere, you wait and see. In fact-" She broke off as she spotted Evan waiting patiently behind the men at the bar. "Well, would you look who's here? Aren't you a sight for sore eyes. What will it be, the usual?"
"Yes, please, Betsy fach," Evan said. "A pint of Guinness would go down a treat. I've been in meetings all day at headquarters, and I'm parched."
"Oh, poor boy, half starved he is these days. They say his wife doesn't feed him properly." Charlie chuckled and dug Evan in his well-padded ribs.
"I'm surprised she's letting you out so soon after the wedding," the butcher said. "You must have licked her into shape really quickly if she's letting you spend your evenings in the pub already."
"Oh, come on, Gareth." Evan chuckled. "I am not spending my evenings at the pub, and I certainly haven't attempted to lick Bron-wen into shape. I just thought I'd pop in for a few minutes to see what everyone's heard about the people moving into the shop."
"They're Pakis," Charlie Hopkins said, as Betsy put a foaming mug of Guinness on the counter for Evan.
"I know. I went over just now. It's a father and son, doing the carpentry themselves."
"It's going to be trouble if you ask me," Barry-the-Bucket commented, between swigs from his glass. "You saw how the young one was dressed-like one of those Muslim priests you see on the telly. I wouldn't be surprised if they're not a terrorist cell hiding out here. You want to keep an eye on them, Evan."
"Give them a break, Barry," Evan said. "I'm sure they're a perfectly normal family. It's up to them how they choose to dress. They've got their religion, and we've got ours. That doesn't make them dangerous. I suggest we all work hard to make them feel welcome in the village."
"If they want us to make them feel welcome, then they've got to learn to be a bloody sight friendlier than they were today," Charlie Hopkins said. "My Mair poked her head around the door, just to exchange a friendly word with whoever it was, and they cut her dead. The younger one wouldn't even speak to her."
"Ah well, they're Muslims, look you, and she's a woman," Barry said. "Women don't count for anything in their religion. They'll probably start making all the women in the village wear veils when they go into the shop."
Evan laughed, a little uneasily. "Come on, Barry. They're as British as you or I. Give them a chance, all right?"
"I'd like to see anyone make me start wearing a veil," Betsy said. "I've got a good body, and I don't mind showing it off a little."
She smoothed down her T shirt, pulling the low neckline even lower, making every man in the bar look up from his glass.
"You get back to your pouring," Barry said firmly. He and Betsy had been dating for a while. "That's enough showing it off for one evening."
"Mind you"-Betsy gave him a teasing smile-"one of those see-through, filmy veils would be dead sexy. Like Salom茅 doing the dance of the seven veils." She wiggled her hips, making the men laugh.
Evan drained his glass and replaced it on the bar. "Thanks, Betsy love. I'd better be going, then. I don't like to keep Bronwen waiting, and I've had a tough day."
"Big case you're working on?" Charlie Hopkins asked.
"No, worse luck. Big meeting. It's the new Chief Constable. He's shaking up the whole police force. You want to hear the latest thing? New uniforms. He's going to have the poor blokes on the beat wearing black cargo pants and black turtleneck sweaters instead of the old shirts and ties."
"What? Cargo pants and sweaters? They'll